Underneath the Red Trees

CHAPTER 62: RETURN OF THE TORMENTOR

Touma's head spun like an out-of-control carousel. His stomach felt like it had been thrown in a blender thrice over. He had lost all perception of time.

"Why...?" was all he could get out before he slammed a hand over his mouth to stop himself from throwing up.

"Don't worry. It will pass soon," he heard an eerily familiar voice say. Who was that? Where did it come from? And why did it cause dread to form within the pit of his stomach...

The next time Touma opened his eyes he stared up at a ceiling that no longer spun. He rolled over on his stomach only to feel his pounding headache. He winced from the pain. "Ah! Shit." he swore. He grabbed his head. Why did he move so suddenly? He was completely disoriented.

At least he no longer felt like he was about to vomit.

After the feeling subsided, Touma took a chance to glance around the room. It was big, twice the size of his bedroom in his flat. The walls were a dark wood colour. Touma lay under piles of soft blankets, he had never been this comfortable. The bedpost, dressers and doors were mahogany. The drapes were dark green. There was a dark green carpet on the floor with mount Fuji and cherry blossom trees depicted on it in yellow thread. Was it hand woven? How fancy...

Touma slipped out from the covers, clumsily catching himself from facepalming. Standing upright made his head woozy. His head spun and his eyes lost focus. He leaned against the wall. He waited for his sight to come back. He cradled his head in the palm of his hand while he waited.

He glanced down to see he was wearing unfamiliar clothes. He wore a black shirt, and a pair of grey sweatpants.

He didn't know what time it was, the room was fairly dark. The nightlight was on. He opened the drapes, and found this room had no windows.

Standing without support was difficult, so Touma made sure to hold onto something sturdy as he made his way to the door. The hallway was just as dark as the bedroom, but the rays of light that shone down on some places told Touma that it was daytime.

Touma passed a picture. It hung on the wall, framed in patterned bronze. Three people stood in the picture. A man, a woman, and a child. The man and woman had wide smiles on their faces, but the boy, who stood in front of his parents, looked unamused. His eyes were staring at the toy in his hands as he played with it. The boy, like his parents, was dressed formally, with a blue button-up shirt, a pair of grey shorts, grey socks, black shoes, and a green tie fastened around his neck which pushed his collar up high, nearly to his chin. He looked like a little dress-up doll in that outfit.

Touma moved on from the picture. He came to a staircase that led downward. He held onto the banister as he scanned the foyer in front of him. The scarce rays of sunshine reflected light in many directions of the dark room. Green carpet covered the stairs and lead all the way to the exit. The doors were big redwood gates blocking his freedom.

The only question was: Were the doors open?

Touma started to wade his way down the stairs. Halfway down he found he could stand on his own. He made the rest of his way down two steps at a time. He came to the base of the steps.

"You sure are in a hurry."

Touma turned his head to see a man standing in a doorway behind the staircase. He was dressed in a pair of jeans and a dark blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hair was messy, some strands even hung in his eyes. On his neck a section of skin two fingers wide was pale pink, bright against the fairness of his skin. The mark went all around his neck like a choker.

Touma's breath caught in his throat. Memories flooded his mind. Twenty-one years he had never lived. A time he had only heard about in history classes. Pain and suffering and fear and love. Emotions that should all have been forgotten the day he shoved a knife into his stomach... The day he disembowelled himself...

A terrible stabbing pain made itself known in Touma's abdomen, as if his belly had been torn open. Right where his birthmark was.

Touma groaned. He doubled over, clutching his midriff. It hurt. Just like it had when he had stuck the knife in, but back then he died. He did not have to worry about the pain for long.

"Does it hurt?" His silvery tone made Touma shudder.

"Daisaku," Touma breathed.

"Miss me?" he asked, grinning. "It's Akira now."

Touma let out a shaky breath. Fear gripped his heart. It started to beat like a drum in his ears. The torment of his life stood in front of him, watching him with a smile that said everything was perfect now that they were reunited. How much had Touma gone through to stay out of his clutches?

"No," he muttered in answer to the former question. With a slow start, he broke into a run for the door. He threw the double doors open and ran down the stone steps, only to freeze in his tracks. In front of him was a big stone fountain, and beyond that was a metallic gate, barring intruders on the road from entering the grounds. And surrounding the grounds like prison bars.

"We're in the countryside. You're far from home," he heard Akira say behind him. A sigh. Step-step-step. He walked down the stairs, coming to stand behind Touma. Lips brushed against Touma's ear. "You can't run away so easily this time."

"Why?" Touma managed to force out. "Why now? Why again?"

Akira's laughter rang through his ears, causing his muscles to tense up. "Why?" Akira repeated. "This is where you belong. By my side. With me."

Touma shuddered. He was no less the monster he had been. Touma considered running for the gate beyond the path that stretched out before him. Akira had mentioned they were in the countryside... but where? Were they still in Tokyo?

Touma turned, facing Akira. He had nothing to say. He just wanted to keep his eyes on Akira.

"Ah-ha," Akira laughed, "Still scared?"

"I'd be stupid if I weren't," Touma answered, meeting Akira's eyes defiantly.

Akira snickered. "Good to see you haven't changed much." A hand gripped onto Touma's jaw. Touma tried to pull his face free, but that only tightened Akira's grip on him. "That won't do." Touma glared at Akira. There was not enough space between them for Touma to feel safe. "I've had my whole life to think, you know. And I've figured something out."

"And what would that be?" Touma asked, still struggling against Akira's grasp.

Akira sighed, "I still remember vividly how I felt when I heard that you died. Back then I never had much time to think on it," he said, pointing at his neck, "Your beloved unfortunately chopped my head off, as I am sure you can tell. When I was reborn, I realised—" Akira finally released Touma's jaw and tucked some of Touma's hair behind his ear. Touma flinched at the touch— "I had mistreated my beloved brother." Touma shivered. His words felt like lies. Disgusting lies dripping with venomous honey. How could he believe Akira? Daisaku was the best liar he knew.

"You expect me to believe you?" Touma murmured, "After everything you did to me? To my mother?"

Akira shrugged, tucking his hands behind his back. "You'll see it my way eventually. Time heals all wounds."

"You'd really keep me here until I die?"

Akira smirked, low laughter coming from his throat. "You should know exactly what I'm capable of."

Akira turned on his heel, heading back toward the door. A tremor ran up Touma's spine. In his past, when he had been Yuuki Akano, he had always relied on Ryogetsu to protect him. He yearned for his protection now, but his protector would not come to save him.

As Akira crossed over the threshold, Touma sank to his knees. His shoulders quivered. It had taken the death of his mother and Dashi's help to escape Daisaku's clutches before. Now he was stuck in his hold once again. Could he manage to escape from him again?